


When My Heart Beats Like a Hammer

by jubilation



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1983048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubilation/pseuds/jubilation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kise picks things up the way he does everything else - sliding into it flawlessly with a dazzling smile and a chiming laugh that echoes in the pit of Kasamatsu’s stomach long after it has left the air.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When My Heart Beats Like a Hammer

Kise picks things up the way he does everything else - sliding into it flawlessly with a dazzling smile and a chiming laugh that echoes in the pit of Kasamatsu’s stomach long after it has left the air.

It’s frustrating, sometimes, though he is often quick to shove it aside in a way he has yet to manage with any other facet of his too hot temper. He wants to grind his teeth, to snap and bite with words that will linger longer than bruises and cute twice as deep, but he reels it back with a sharp inhale of breath.

_(“10…..9……..8……..7………6……….”)_

He reaches zero at precisely the same moment Kise does, his voice a wave crashing down upon Kasamatsu’s reverie. “Ahh, senpai, I think I’ve got it —”

Kasamatsu doesn’t have to turn his head to know it’s true, the notes weaving into the air are proof enough, but his eyes fix upon the guitar nonetheless. He watches Kise’s hands, elegant and as aesthetically pleasing as the rest of him (another thought that once made him bitter but now catches his breath in the back of his throat), with form technical enough to rival B. B. King. ( _Exactly_ like B. B. King.)

There’s a sigh stuck in his chest, just waiting to fly out, with enough exasperation packed into it to tug Kise back down to Earth where he belongs. There are words tangled up on tongue, grounding (“ _Yeah, yeah, don’t get ahead of yourself hot shot_ ,”) but they die on his lips. When Kasamatsu blinks it’s to realize he’s been staring at Kise’s hands for far too long and there’s a question in the other boy’s eye, playful.

"Are you —"

"Shut up."

There’s no bite to his tone and even less in the hands that pry Kise’s, gently, from the strings of the guitar. His hand, where it squeezes Kise’s - just a touch and then the pressure’s gone, is cool. His lips, where they press upon his fingers - one by one, are warm.

There’s no praise that spills forth, only reassurance and pride - reluctant to surface, but ever present - spelled out with each feather-light kiss that trail upward from his fingertips.

"Play a better song next time," he breathes against Kise’s lips.


End file.
